


Finding Home

by TaylorMade



Series: Harlivy Evolutions [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorMade/pseuds/TaylorMade
Summary: Who says there are no unknown Meta-Humans? These new characters may just find a place of their own in the world...





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlphaWailingWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaWailingWolf/gifts).



> For AlphaWailingWolf

Finding Home  
By: TaylorMade  
A Gift for AlphaWailingWolf

Chapter One: Broken

May 6, 1978

The calendar on the wall was mocking her. It read "May". Was that really accurate? It had read "October" when she'd been brought here - no, when she had _woken up_ here... To make things _more_ confusing, her last clear memory before that was of a hot summer day. She'd been at the beach with her cousin, playing a duet on their guitars, singing a ballad together. Could that have really been nearly a year ago?

Through the murky fluid that floated in between the two panes of glass in front of her, she stared at the lab that was her prison. All sorts of animals were housed here. Birds of all varieties sat in large cages, refusing to sing. Two horses were locked in a long, narrow enclosure across from her, unable to move. There was a wall to her left that was nothing but a display of snakes. Cats and dogs were scattered about in crates on the floor.

 _'If I can get free,'_ she thought to them. _I won't leave any of you behind. I promise.'_

They just stared dully. There wasn't much hope left in them.

It was then that she heard the door open behind her. She couldn't see it - by design, she presumed - but, a moment, later she saw the moron dance into view wearing a powder blue leisure suit. He was singing "Stayin' Alive". Off key.

She regarded him the way she might a petulant toddler - with a disapproving look and a raised eyebrow. He grinned at her, knowing she was quite literally a captive audience, and moved to the record player. He pulled out the BeeGee's album and let the professionals play the offensive song instead.

"How do you like my suit, Bryony?" He asked. "Groovy?"

"More like pathetic," she replied. "To say nothing of the nightmare on your feet." She gestured to the platform shoes.

He followed her gaze down and scowled. "This look is very popular."

"That's not a look," Bryony informed him. "It's a cry for help. Or it will be as soon as you step on those bell bottoms and fall down a flight of stairs."

He scratched his record in his haste to lift the arm from the player. She smirked. She _wanted_ him angry today... Angry enough to get careless, hopefully giving her an opening. The caustic chemicals between the panes of glass made smashing through a bad idea. The large tank over her head would pour into her little bubble, killing her long before she could break through the second layer. There would be a window of opportunity, however, if she could only make proper use of it. It would come in the time he transferred her from her bubble to the table. She knew he tended to babble when he was angry. So she intended to get him chatty.

"Alexander Woodrue..." She lingered on his name. "One would think you'd learn from history... Especially a history so specific to your family. Don't you remember what happened to your uncle, _widdle Awex_?"

The young man flushed and she knew she'd hit her mark. His glare deepened to that of an irrational creature. His hands clenched at his sides.

"Shut up, you bitch!" He was snarling now. "What do you know about anything?"

"I know your Uncle Jason did something very much like what you're doing now. Poison Ivy was the result. And now, here you are, using animal DNA instead of plant... And you think you'll somehow end up less dead than he did. You're an idiot."

He smiled cruelly and she knew she had him. "Oh, Bryony..." He sighed. "Do you know why I'll succeed where my uncle failed?" He paused and she raised an amused eyebrow. "It's because he got too _involved_... Having sex with his subject? Letting his desire for her get the better of him? No. I've never done that with you... I would never have sex with _you_."

"Can't get it up, huh?" She grinned. "Too scared, I bet. And, Al? It's not sex unless both participants are willing. If he held her against her will and did what you're suggesting, then raped her. Understand?"

Now he was too enraged to speak at all. Perfect. She subtly took a deep breath and held it. As she did, he hit the button to release the knockout gas that was proving less and less effective the last few weeks. Even so, she pretended to go limp. It wasn't as if there was room to fall, really. There was just enough distance from her wall to the glass to occasionally rest her head. Slumping down wasn't an option, either. He'd placed her in a full back brace months ago. She couldn't even turn her head anymore. But she knew he always removed it to experiment on her. She would wake, strapped face down on the table where a hole had been roughly carved out for her face. But, with a bit of luck, she'd be able to move properly again soon.

Alexander Woodrue stared warily for a moment, as if making sure she was truly unconscious, but then opened the solid steel door at her back and pulled her out of the tank. He carefully unlatched the buckles on the harness he'd fashioned to keep his creating immobile, freeing the new appendages on Bryony's back. He stroked them lovingly, as he always did before strapping her to the table. Only this time, she stiffened. Her eyes flew open and he fell backwards as a flurry of bone and feathers forcefully slammed into him.

Before he could recover, a blow from behind made colors dance across his eyes. Then those colors faded to darkness.

(:)

Although she was in shock, Bryony was true to her word. She quickly shoved open the large garage door situated behind her tank and began releasing the now excited zoo. Both horses were gone in a flash, barely pausing to whinny their gratitude. The dogs and cats were next. They took more time to thank her, but - at her insistence - also fled. The birds had to be directed to fly down to the door before going up, but, once in the sky, they all began to sing. She rejoiced in the sound.

Finally, she moved to the snakes, pressing a hand to the box containing the nearest viper. It looked at her and she felt its amusement. She smiled in return.

 _'A favor, my friend?'_ she thought to it.

 _'There are no favors in common goals, my dear,'_ it replied. _'Set me free as you promised. That is all the payment I require.'_

The other snakes laughed in agreement.

As Bryony walked away, she could hear Woodrue screaming beneath the angry swarm of deadly, vengeful creatures.

(:)

Bryony was in the middle of nowhere, half naked. She stumbled first through the woods and now through a field that must have been part of a farm. She could only hope the land didn't belong to Woodrue's family...

As she trudged along, she tested the new things on her back, stretching them, finding that they could move independently of one another, finding that she could _move them at will!_ They were a part of her, these large things that matched the color of her dark auburn hair...

Wings...

She had _wings_ , feathers and all... Either that, or she was hallucinating. Maybe that was it... Maybe someone had slipped her some acid without her knowing it... Some really _bad_ acid... It would explain why she thought she could communicate with those animals - and why she was just now questioning the fact that she had done so... She must be coming down off a terrible high...

So when a little girl's voice rang out with the words, "Look, Daddy, it's a angel!", her reaction was to fall to her knees, laughing hysterically.

(:)

Once the manic laughter had faded into despair, a towel was dropped gently in front of her bare chest. She stared at it, then up at the large man who kept his eyes diverted. It was taking too long to come, the comprehension, and she knew it. Finally, though, the pieces clicked into place and she accepted the offering, covering herself. She looked down at her bare, bloody feet. Traipsing through the woods and this field had not been good for them. At least she still had the shorts she'd worn to the beach last year.

Oh, how she hoped it had only been last year!

"Thank you," she managed.

"You're welcome." A man of few words... Bryony liked that. "Come on," he said after several silent moments. "My older daughter should have some clothes to fit you. She likes those halter top things."

 _'In other words,'_ Bryony thought. _'The wings won't be a problem.'_

"You haven't asked," she noted.

"Doesn't matter," the man shrugged. "You're here, you clearly need help, and - as far as I know - you've done nothing wrong."

She nodded, pausing to take stock of the man and child as they helped her up. They carried a picnic basket, but (judging by the loose way he held it) it must have been empty. The towel smelled like fried chicken and there was a corner with a smear of food, as if the girl had wiped her hands. They must have used it for a picnic blanket. They'd found her on their way home. They both had pale skin and dark hair, matching hazel eyes... The girl must have been about six years old.

"I'm Michael," the man introduced himself. "This is Tracey."

"Bryony," she told him. "Bryony Ellis."

"Can you fly?" Tracey asked.

"I don't know," Bryony answered quickly because Michael looked ready to scold her for being rude. "I just now found out I've got these..." She stretched the wings out, showing them off.

"Oh," Tracey looked disappointed. "How'd you get them?"

"I have a few guesses," Michael's voice was tense. "And they all share a last name."

"Woodrue," the winged woman confirmed.

Michael's expression turned grim. That, for some reason, pushed her over the edge at last. She collapsed, sobbing, into his arms...

(:).(:).(:)

May 15, 2016

"Welcome to Supercell Sunday!" His voice echoed through the bullhorn as the skinny boy grinned and jumped off the roof of the StormTeam weather truck. He was twenty-four, but on days like this? The team may as well have been babysitting a hyperactive eight-year-old. He lifted the bullhorn to his face again, only to have it ripped away.

" _No_ , Blake," the woman stated. "We've got too much to do. You can't be a child today."

"You used to be fun, Skye!" His reply was as accusatory as it was sour. His laugh ruined the harsh edge of his words.

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed. "Just set up the equipment like a good boy and pretend you're well-behaved. I don't want any screw-ups while I'm patched into Cyclone One."

She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. Skye Operose had been working on this system almost non-stop for the better part of a year. It was, perhaps, odd that her partner in the endeavor had insisted on phone and e-mail conversations only, but the technology they'd created was... Okay, maybe not "sound", but... Promising? In theory?

Yes, "promising" would work.

She supposed she should have been terrified. The neurological interface would use the electrical currents in her brain to send a signal into the electrical activity of the oncoming storm - and vice versa. The idea was to use the shared activity to predict the path and overall intensity of any tornados the supercell might produce.

Unfortunately, there was no way to know if it would work. Skye guessed it was possible that the tech wouldn't function at all. In which case, this would be like any run through Tornado Alley on a storm day. It was also possible the tech would short out and potentially set the truck on fire... With Blake and Skye still inside...

 _'That's a cheery thought,'_ she admonished herself. _'Besides, if you wanted a safe job, you shouldn't have volunteered to chase in the first place!'_

A few moments later, as Blake was finishing up, commotion spread through their group. A tornado had touched down and their people were scrambling to get to their trucks and on the road. Blake whooped happily and jumped behind the wheel.

"I can't believe we let you drive!" Skye laughed at him.

He grinned in reply. "Me neither!"

Her phone rang on the car speakers through the Bluetooth. She checked the number and answered. She had to speak up to be heard over the roar of the engine.

"Good timing!" She told her partner. "I'm about to test the system! We're finally getting our trial run."

 _"I know."_ Skye could hear her smiling. _"I'm in the Weather Center now. I've got your car's video feed coming in live. Be careful, okay?"_

"Aren't I always?"

 _"Hm. Rhetorical, yet not rhetorical... How to respond..."_ Skye waited for more and wasn't disappointed. _"Just don't break anything important. That's the tornado's job."_

"Right," Skye nodded.

"How 'bout me?" Blake pitched in.

 _"Oh, God! You're riding with Blake? So much for careful."_ Then her partner's tone grew serious. _"Look, we've got to switch to the audio comm feed to the station. I just wanted to get in a private good luck. Keep your eyes peeled and, really, don't take any unnecessary risks."_

"Don't worry. And thanks. Now let's go professional. I think I see some activity up ahead."

Sure enough, she was coming up on the back end of what looked to be a decent F2 storm. She pulled the interface on and readied it.

 _"Observation to Cyclone One,"_ a man's voice came over the radio. _"GPS indicates that you are in position; please confirm."_

"Confirmed," Skye responded. She was already adjusting the trajectory and checking the settings on the experimental device. "Launching sensors now."

She punched a big red button, sending thousands of tiny probes in a rocket-like canister into the tornado. Just as they had hoped, it went far enough to be picked up by the vortex in midair. The canister was torn apart and the sensors scattered throughout the wind currents.

"Sensors have engaged," she announced. "Observation, can you see it?"

 _"Yes,"_ her partner's voice replied. _"Excellent work, Cyclone One. Ready for phase two?"_

Skye took a deep breath, thinking to steady her nerves, only to realize she wasn't nervous. There were people in the path of the storm. If this worked, they would be able to warn specific neighborhoods in the path of destruction. The days of generalizing counties and towns would be over. Fewer injuries would occur, fewer deaths.

"Prepped and ready," she said. "Whenever you are."

 _"EEG is active."_ Her partner's voice was calm and steady. _"We're reading both you and the sensors. Punch it."_

So she did. She turned on the device and felt the odd sensation of her own mind connecting to the currents of the storm. It was... _exhilarating_! Skye could _feel_ every part of the storm simultaneously. 

"It's stronger than I estimated," she said. "Winds at roughly 140 miles per hour - F3. I think... I can't say why exactly, but it feels like it might linger for awhile... The vortex is really strong, but it's taking a slow path. Got that, Observation?"

 _"We read you,"_ her partner replied. _"We're updating our warnings as we speak."_

"Get us closer," Skye told Blake, momentarily covering her microphone. Observation, after all, would not approve.

"You got it!" He flashed her his cowboy grin.

"This thing is going to chew up a lot of real estate," she predicted. "And it's going to take it's sweet time doing it."

She never even flinched as they came up alongside the funnel and into the band of hail. Balls of ice hit their truck, but, to his credit, Blake continued unfazed.

"Got my eyes on the road, Skye," he said. "I'm trusting you to keep an eye on that beast."

"We're golden," she replied. "It's not changing course. It's - "

A bolt of lightning and a thunderclap occurred in near-perfect unison. She had felt it building, but realized too late where it would hit. Blake would be fine. The rubber soles of his boots, the insulated work gloves he always wore, even the leather seats would protect him. It was Skye who had been tied into an electrical current. It was Skye who became the conductor.

She could vaguely hear Blake's voice, yelling her name. She felt him slam on the brakes, thought she saw his face hovering over her... Was that rain on her face? Was she somehow outside now?

"Take... cover..." she tried to say. She had no idea if the words ever actually came out of her mouth, however. She still felt like she was connected to the tornado, only now it surrounded her. It was here. Which meant her team would be in danger.

Blake said something... _"Hold on,_ maybe? Or _It's gone_? She couldn't be sure...

Then the world went dark.

(:)

"Skye?" A familiar voice, but not Blake's. "Skye, can you hear me?"

Her partner! The woman who had helped her design Cyclone One was _here_ , in person! She let her eyes flutter open, though she still felt the storm strongly, and was shocked to see she was in the hospital. The wind, the rain, the hail... She could still feel it, but it must have been some sort of neurological echo. And the sight before her made even less sense.

"I don't believe in God," she said firmly.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Well," she reasoned. "A lot of scientists don't."

Skye's eyes narrowed. "So why is there an angel in this screwed-up dream?"

Realization crossed the woman's face. She stepped closer and lifted Skye's hand to a russet wing. The feathers felt awfully real... Pinching herself probably wouldn't work either.

"I'm sorry, Skye," she said, still using the voice of the storm chaser's secretive friend. "I didn't anticipate what would happened. I didn't intend this for you."

"Intend what, Bryony?"

"I'm afraid you're like me now," came the reply. "A meta-human."

Not quite believing this, Skye stared for a moment, searching the other woman's face for signs of mirth - and finding none. Then she forced herself off the bed and quickly made her way to the bathroom attached to her room. She had to see. She had to _know_... What had happened to her? 

She stared into the mirror. She didn't appear different... She had no injuries to speak of by the look of it... She still had the same dark hair, the same brown eyes...

Something must be wrong. She must have some kind of wound to be in the hospital. Though she had no broken bones, no scrapes or bruises or...

Wait... That was impossible. Lightning had directly hit the truck! She should have felt something!

 _'You do,'_ said some quiet part of her mind. _'You feel the storm... You **are** a storm...'_

As she grew frantic, a vortex formed around her, lifting her bare feet from the floor. She was held aloft there, at the eye of her own tiny tornado. A hand reached out for hers, pulling gently down and guiding her into an embrace as her winds died down. Bryony's wings folded, allowing her to wrap her arms around the shorter woman.

"Don't worry," Bryony whispered, her dark auburn hair hiding Skye's face. "I'm no angel, you are still alive, and I will be here to get you through this. You have my word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone reads this and says anything about Woodrue's nephew and "how could he know", keep in mind that Michael wasn't surprised to hear the name. In _this_ AU, the entire Woodrue family is made up of all sorts of sadists. Not only that, but they like to brag to each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone, this story is not abandoned. My Branwyn has died and I find it difficult to write without her sitting with me, as was her custom. Those who are following this story, please be patient. I am editing an old, incomplete Harry Potter AU fanfic in an effort to ease myself back into writing again. Please be patient with me. I'm working on it.


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